Page 26 of The Lionheart’s Bond (Bonds of Dusk and Dawn #1)

PROLOGUE

Discomfort woke him up. Nel couldn’t quite open his eyes and his head was pounding, but it had nothing to do with daylight. The small room was still cold, the sun’s warmth still far from spreading across the Ilish lands.

This also was not his room.

Last night, the stable master had persuaded him to join him and some of his men for mead and roasted chestnuts. Flutes and drums had inspired some country dancing in which Nel had happily partaken. That’s when Jared, the handsome stable boy, had made his advances. Nel was already sweet with drink and it didn’t take much effort for the manservant to lead him out of bounds of the castle and into town.

Jared was sharp and rugged in many ways, but there was something in the shape of his eyes, the length of his eyelashes, which lent the young man a hint of feminine beauty. And he was big. Muscles for days. He needed them to handle the largest animals, especially Neisha’s massive black steed. Jared dedicated most of his time to that beast.

‘Why do they call you stable boys? There is nothing boyish about you’ he had asked the man. That chest spanned the width of worlds under Nel’s fingers, as the dove into the sea of curls.

‘Stable hands, not stable boys, not unless you’re a young’un.’The man was the quiet sort, the grunting type. Not his usual pick, but he was so damn handsome and Nel liked to be manhandled. Jared didn’t disappoint, able to pick him up and flip him over or hold him up.

Nel turned on his side, uncomfortable, not ready to get up even though it was time. Neisha would lose the plot if he wasn’t there at breakfast.

‘It worries our mother,’ he would say, sternly.

Fuck Neisha, it’s what he thought, and tried to close his eyes again. He turned and turned. It was too cold, and he couldn’t find a comfortable spot, nor one that made his increasingly sore head any more bearable.

With a sigh, he pushed the covers off himself and tried to stand up. He didn’t want to worry their mother, after all. Neisha could still go and fuck off.

His discarded clothes lied, abandoned, somewhere on the floor. The feeling of fabric grazed his toes, on the bare floorboards. The shirt felt chilly against his skin. He reached for the laces, only to realize the entire front was ripped apart. He smirked, recalling that part of the evening with a thrill. Quite a night indeed.

The enormous silhouette of the man on the bed gently swelled and fell back, his bare back turned to the prince. It might be worth revisiting this situation with him once more, in some near future. Second rounds were often inconvenient, but he relished losing himself into someone else’s arms, someone who could take charge and leave him to enjoy his pleasure without further concern. A moment for his mind to go blank, to be at peace.

He smiled to himself and sat at the edge of the bed, pulling his boots on.

‘Where are you going?’ the man mumbled, closing a hand around his wrist.

‘I must return to the castle, my love. My lady mother will wonder where I went if I’m not there for breakfast.’

‘Hmmmm, you’re the queen’s little boy?’ The man opened his eyes, barely a spot of light reflected on his irises.

Nel smiled, amused by the lack of reverence in his lover’s voice. Jared and Nel had not met in the stables very often, and when they had, the stable hand never looked up from the floor. Until they met last night, Nel didn’t know what his face really looked like, and it occurred to him that might go both ways. For the sake of entertainment, Nel had indulged into a little game in which he pretended to be someone else. Jared still hadn’t figured out who Nel really was.

‘I’m almost sure that’s Ponar, but my mother does worry about us all.’

‘She should know better.’ He closed his eyes again, as if his lids were too heavy to keep open, and not reacting to his brother’s name.

Nel smirked once more, and ran a hand through the man’s thick, curly hair, sliding down his dark shoulder, and left with partial regret. Maybe an immediate round two wouldn’t have been so bad, if it wasn’t for this strange tension at the pit of his stomach.

He was uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. Alcohol had played him a fool in the past, forcing him to stay by a chamber pot all day, but he hoped it wouldn’t be the case today.

He pulled his tunic and cloak on and made his way out of the house. It was cold and damp outside, and he pulled the thick wool around himself with a shiver, looking up and down the street, trying to make sense of where he was, until he saw the tower in the distance. The symbol of Ilystra rose high above the castle.

The sky lightened behind him as he made his way home, and for every step he took, his discomfort grew. The air turned thick, heavy. Like walking through gruel. His stomach tightened and twisted so hard it bent him over, ejecting its contents out of his mouth in an acidic, disgusting flood. He stumbled, once it stopped, holding his weight against a wall, cold sweat making his broken shirt stick to his body.

Pain seized his limbs, and he lifted his hand, considering whether he was still drunk, while his fingers appeared to be breaking and reshaping under his very eyes, except that the pain was no delusion. He turned into an alley, seeking refuge out of some irrational instinct.

It wasn’t only his stomach now, but every bone, every muscle. Every part of him burnt, snapped, and pulled apart until he couldn’t bear it anymore and it all went dark.

When Nel came to, it was in a state of confusion, unaware of his location or how he had gotten there, only to remember later he had hidden before passing out.

In his stupor, he felt an urge to give up. To stop thinking, to relinquish control to this force that called for him. His soul ached for it.

The urge, pushing from outside his body, screamed in his mind, fighting against his will. How much easier would that be? Nel knew that peace well, craved it. Emptying his brain of thought was hard to achieve and now an unknown force offered it to him on a silver tray. Abandoning himself would be a relief, knowing another to be in charge of his body and movements.

He blinked, snapping out of it. His priority was to figure out what was happening to him, not to abandon himself to the easiest path.

First, he needed to establish his location.

It was dim, but not dark. There was light nearby, but even in its absence, he could see remarkably well. As he took in his surroundings, he recognized a narrow alley, wooden crates piled up high with rotting carrot tops and potato skins. That’s when he noticed the dry, putrid taste in his mouth, and he instinctively ran his tongue over his teeth, their sharp points digging into the soft flesh.

Sharp points? His teeth weren’t pointy.

He took a breath and made his way towards the light at the end of the alley, noting quietly that he was walking on all fours. But it wasn’t the heavy, clumsy crawling of a human. This was the light, fast pace of a creature for which this kind of movement was natural. He stopped, critically analysing what he knew, and determined he must have transformed into an animal. How or why, he couldn’t fathom, and he would find out, but not now. Now, he needed to get home. Maybe he could figure out what he was before he got there.

Finding a method of communication would be vital, but he didn’t have the time or patience to solve that problem yet and he pushed it out of his mind.

The guards would be his first obstacles. They’d no doubt try to get rid of him if he tried to get in through the front doors.

But before all that, he needed to get out of town.

He made it out into the light, now low in the west. The whole day had gone by while he was unconscious.

The town was mostly empty at this time of the afternoon, but he still attracted the surprised looks of the odd citizen, walking back home from the fields or markets. Based on what he could see and their line of sight, he was a small creature, but not so small as to be in danger of being trampled. Kicked, or stumbled over, maybe. He listed a number of animals that might meet the characteristics he had identified in his form. Good night vision, medium sized, sharp teeth. A stray cat, maybe. Or a raccoon or badger. There were more.

After a few more surprised looks, he avoided the main street and chose the back alleys and fields instead. No more curious eyes on him, as he remained out of sight almost long enough to make it out of town.

A back door opened right in front of him and made him jump. The sound of loud voices and mugs hitting tables intensified as the door swung out. A tavern, then. The Sleeping Farmer, if he had calculated his location correctly. Only a little father, and he’d be out of the streets and into the fields proper.

Another obstacle crossed his path though, in long skirts and foul temper. A feminine shriek followed, startled.

‘Get out of here you, stupid fox!’ the barmaid screamed, annoyed at her own reaction.

A fox then. He could live with that.

The thought surprised him, triggering new questions. Until now, he had been focused on making it home, but all the thoughts he had kept at bay stumbled to the forefront of his mind.

How long would he be like this?

Was there anything he could do? Anything he should do?

How would he communicate who he was once he made it home?

Was he the only one affected?

He ran out before he got kicked by her and sped out of town, through the fields and up the hill, until he was at the castle doors. He would have frowned if he knew how to. His concerns about the guards turned out to be irrelevant; none were there.

No one stopped him as he walked in. The sun streamed through the windows in the foyer, shedding a bright light over the horrifying sight. Several bodies were strewn across the floor. There, under an eerie sunbeam, a massive mountain lion stood over a puddle. It lifted its majestic head, and a loud, shattering roar broke out of its throat.

Nel took a step back and ran up the stairs instead. The expected panic never made an appearance. Could the lion be one of his brothers? That they might all have transformed was only one of the many possibilities on Nel’s list.

He trotted along the gallery and towards his parents’ bedroom. Would the king and queen be themselves, or would this strange phenomenon have affected them too?

The door came into view, and a shudder ran through him. It was the red hair that identified the body on the floor as his sister, and not her features. Her face was unrecognizable. Deep gashes shone bright with fresh blood across her right cheek, from her ear to the corner of her mouth. He came closer, a knot in his throat, and sniffed at her, the metallic scent almost unbearable. She was, however, alive. A weight lifted off his shoulders as relief soothed his fears.

Scrabbling and shuffling noises came from inside, followed by a new deafening roar. Not like the lion’s. This was a low, guttural, vibrating sound. He already expected to see the bear when he walked around the open door, but it was what was behind him that made his heart stop and his ability to reason vanish. The cold, analytical lens he had used until now shattered as a painful whine escaped his mouth. He didn’t even recognize it as his. He tried to get closer, around the side, come to stand by his mother, her face frozen in perfect horror, her skin mottled with drops of her own blood. He wanted to stand by his father’s body, a barely recognizable hand stretching towards his wife. But the bear wouldn’t let him. It stood on its hind legs, larger than any bear he had ever seen, and roared so loud the castle might have rattled. Or maybe it was his bones.

He stepped back, heart racing, his throat tightening and his eyes burning with tears. Through the window, the sun slowly set in the distance. He rushed out, ignoring the servants running away, the soldiers rushing from room to room, the busted door to his left, and slipped into his room, grateful it had been left open. He sat, not sure what he was waiting for, but waiting, nonetheless.

A single thought relentlessly echoed through his mind.

Do foxes even cry?